


selfish needs

by carrionqueen (nightquill)



Series: The Ocean [6]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Brother/Sister Incest, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 16:54:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3177357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightquill/pseuds/carrionqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The hawk would have been safe if it had stayed, but that isn't what hawks do. // this is not the first time they've fucked, but it is the first time they've done it in the hanged man. and it's always emotional, always intimate, and this is no less personal. set the night before the deep roads expedition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Carver couldn’t remember the last time he was this happy. Everyone was here, the expedition was tomorrow, and everything - all their hard work, all the legwork they did for the red iron - was all beginning to pay off. Even the beer was on Varric's tab. yeah, he was happy. Cathryn had been sitting on his lap all night. Against everyone's wishes, they'd shared a hand of cards. And they'd lost. Carver blamed his sister - she kept making lewd comments about Isabela hiding cards in places where women should probably _not_ hide cards and he'd gotten flustered and fucked it all up. _How unlike me_ , he thought, casting his eyes around the tavern.

He’d been drinking here since the day he'd set foot inside the city and he doubted he'd ever stop. The inn at Lothering had been a pleasant distraction but it wasn't like this. The hanged man was crowded, humming. She had a life of her own. Funny how many people referred to the tavern as a 'she', when her sign was a bloke hanging by his foot from a rope, but there was no doubting it. She was alive and the buzz of chatter over the clink of cups and coin lit a fire in his belly. This place was more home than Gamlen's hovel would ever be.

"Junior! Get us a round, will you? Norah’s ignoring me," Varric grinned as he shoved his empty tankard across the table. Carver glared at him and gestured to his sister, who was planted firmly on his lap and deep in conversation with Fenris about slavers or the black chantry or something equally Tevinter. Varric shrugged, grinned some more, and nodded once again in the direction of the bar. Isabela had shoved her empty cup across to him as well, and Aveline had done the same.

"Oh for the love of - alright, fine, fine. Cat, move your arse," he snapped, grabbing his sister by the hips and shoving her, rather unceremoniously, off his lap. She squeaked and stumbled, but he caught her, one arm about her waist. "Klutz," he shot, and she smirked up at him, batting her lashes in a demure little _thank you_. Before he could blush at the way her lips curved, he let her go, gathering up the cups and tankards to take back to Corff. _Maker_. If she were any more obvious about it...

He leant against the bar, dropping the cups one by one on Corff's side of things. "Four beers, two whiskeys, a wine and a cider, when you get the chance," he yelled over the noise - the man was run off his feet, but he waved anyway. Carver decided to wait for them. If Norah was ignoring Varric, the odds of her remembering to deliver their drinks were slim.

"Hey big brother." an arm clad in red leather slid around his waist as cat ducked under his arm, casually slinging it about her shoulders like a scarf. He rolled his eyes. She only called him _big brother_ when she wanted something.

"What? Varric's buying the drinks so I don't know what you're trying to wheedle out of me," his voice was abrupt but he was grinning. He couldn't help it. Her smile was infectious; the way she gripped his wrist to keep his arm about her shoulders utterly ridiculous. "Cat, let me go," he laughed eventually and she obliged, slipping in next to him and leaning an elbow on the bar.

"I’m not trying to _wheedle_ anything out of you. Just keeping you company." she was smiling, though, so he knew that wasn't all of it. She was buzzed, he knew that much, and when he breathed in deeply there was smoke in her hair. Perhaps it was just that. "You should know," she started suddenly _\- ahh, here it comes_. "You should know that mother wants me to leave you behind."

Carver snorted. "Of course she does."

"She’s serious, carver. And I... I don't think it's a _bad_ idea. Without you, who's going to keep an eye on her? G _amlen_?" she laughed but it was uncertain. "I mean it's probably selfish of me to even think that I need you down there with me, when she's up here all alone,"

_I need you_. He turned to her fully, one elbow on the bar, the bustle of people pressing them together. "I don't care what mother wants. I’m coming with you."

Her face lit up then, a bright sun, a merry little fire - she'd been waiting for him to say it, he realized. She hadn't been sure. And she'd been trying so hard, lately, not to make decisions for him. It was... nice. She slipped her hand into his, squeezing tight as she looked up at him. "Really? I don't want you to think that you have to,"

"Shut up," he interrupted with a laugh. Impulsively, he bent to kiss her. The bar was packed but everyone was involved in their own affairs - fresh drinks, home dramas, political debates, drunken flirtations - and it was amazing how invisible two shabby refugees could be in a place like this. When his lips touched hers she hummed against them, her lids dropping low as she savored it.

"That was silly," she chastised him, but she spoke softly, and she inched herself closer. "Do it again,"

He laughed again, slipping his arms about her waist and pulling her close to his chest, hugging her tight. She returned the embrace and he hoped it would pass as some casual, sibling-y affection but he suspected it would raise some eyebrows. Especially the way he was absently playing with her hair, kissing the top of her head like she was about to disappear, like she was slipping through his fingers --

"Four beers, two whiskeys, a wine and a cider," Corff called, startling them both. Cat eased herself out of his arms, grabbing the whiskey and the wine from the tray and ducking back to the table without even looking at her brother. Carver thanked the innkeep, reminded him to bill Varric, and awkwardly wound his way through the crowd with the remaining six drinks.


	2. Chapter 2

She didn't return to his lap - they were both suddenly conscious, again, of that weird attraction. Carver always felt like people could see it, like some kind of magical aura. It made him nervous. They bumped knees, though, and beneath the table she twined her fingers in his, pressing her nails hard into his skin. They played diamondback. Fenris started swearing in Tevinter. Anders left early, and isabela began betting items of clothing even though no one really wanted to win them.

Carver was glowing. His cheeks were rosy, the room was warm and still humming with activity and he'd not laughed so much in months and months and months. Tomorrow was a big day and they'd have to be up early but if he could stay here, in this little bubble of a moment, forever? He’d have been quite happy. He took a deep pull of his beer and watched, face frozen in a mix of horror and amusement, as Merrill matched Isabela's bet of a pair of underthings. Varric was laughing so hard that he had tears in his eyes and even Aveline was grinning, a pink glow across her cheeks and nose.

When he looked over at cat, their eyes met. She’d been watching him. He smirked at her and she laughed, a bright sound, her sea-blue eyes all hazy sparkles. They were both drunk. Well. Not drunk enough to excuse them, really, but drunk enough to be brave and stupid and happy. Drunk enough not to think about all the _bad shit_. He slid across the bench to sit closer to her, kissing her cheek as their thighs bumped together. This moment was honestly perfect, but he could think of something better. "Let’s go," he urged, and his voice was a lot more strained than he'd intended. She laughed again at this, mussing his hair, gloved hand curving around his jaw - "come on. Let’s go," he said again. She shook her head.

"I want to stay."

He did, too, but he wanted her more. Just a taste. A small moment. He bent to whisper in her ear then, hand on her shoulder - "we'll come back. Let’s just get out of here. for a minute," he dared to kiss the shell of her ear, prayed that no one was watching - no, all eyes were on Merrill and Isabela's game of wicked grace. "I have an idea. Come with me," he urged again, and he got up.

They were the furthest from the fire. The hanged man was still a hive of activity, but every patron crowded near the warmth or the bar. Back here, in the shadows, against a stack of empty crates, they were almost alone. It was almost quiet. Almost safe. Carver reached for her waist the moment she was within arm's reach and he pulled her in tight, butting his forehead against hers as he traced his hands up and down the sides of her body. _Probably selfish of me to think that I need you._ Her words echoed in his head as he felt her push him back, against the boxes, further into the dark. When there was no more room, her body pressed into his. She angled in between his thighs, her hands firm against his chest, a wicked smile on her lips, that dark burgundy crescent - "cat," he whispered and she ate up his words, pulling their mouths together in a needy kiss.

She tasted like whiskey. His teeth grazed her bottom lip and she sighed into him, her hands winding up about his neck, the nails of her left hand leaving notches in his skin. "This is dangerous," she murmured around their kisses, but she was the one grinding against him. Not that he was complaining. He let a hand fall to her hips and pulled her even closer, dipping to kiss the soft part of her throat, right beneath the corner of her jaw. He wondered if he could get away with leaving a little blue bruise there. "Carver, if anyone sees us,"

He chuckled quietly, spinning them both to trap her against the crates, his back to the rest of the tavern and everyone in it. "They won't. No’s looking. and if," he paused, tucking a hand beneath her thigh as he hoisted her onto one of the old boxes, "they do happen to look," he said softly as his hand slid up her calf, beneath her skirt, and up behind her knee, "how will they know _who_ I’m fucking, if I’ve got you like _this_?"

Cathryn squeaked as he roughly pulled her hips toward his own, her skirt sliding up over her knees. "Maker’s breath, carver," she grinned at him, her cheeks colouring. She was wedged between him and the boxes, his form blocking almost all views of her - anyone watching would have to come far too close to figure them out. He bent over her and kissed her again, slowly, deliberately. She moaned into his mouth, opening her knees to him and drawing him in. "I didn't... know,"

carver smoothed his hands over her knees and up the lengths of her legs, sliding the skirt slowly up as he did so, planting a kiss on the inside of each thigh - he loved them, his sister's legs, creamy and dimpled and fleshy and glorious. He loved them clamped tight about his waist, or either side of his head, or across his hips as she sat on top of him. "You didn't know what, sister?"

She gasped at the wet kisses, as they trailed higher and higher, as he finally bunched the skirt up about her waist. "That you _wanted_... as much as I did," it was her voice that shook now, and he chuckled again as he finally pressed a kiss to her cunt. Her gasp was electric and he hummed and smiled, parting her with his tongue, spreading her open with his fingers, sucking her clit gently between his lips kissed her again and again.

But he didn't have time to taste her as fully as he wanted. He could - and had - spent hours between her thighs, but the risk of being caught... it was exciting, but still a real risk. The tavern noise masked her little whimpers as he gently kissed her clit once more before rising to kiss her mouth. He fumbled with his belt. "Of course I _want_. As much as you do. More than, probably," he grinned and kissed her again as he felt her hands move to help him with the buckle. "Though I probably look less desperate about it than you do,"

"Hey!" she protested, but laughed sheepishly. Maker, but he loved her. he wanted to bundle her up and take her home and make love to her all night on the bunk bed and fall asleep with her in his arms and kiss her awake and make love to her all over again in the morning but he couldn't, not now - this would have to do. It would be a promise, he supposed. When they returned from the deep roads, they'd be rich and bored and could fuck whenever they pleased. Cat’s gloved hand dipped into his pants and gripped his cock.

"See? Desperate," he teased and she laughed at him, reaching up to tangle her hands in his hair and kiss him as he moved closer, pressing his hips against hers.

"Oh, shut up and do it already," she breathed into his ear, and like every request she'd ever made of him, he obliged. He freed his cock from his trousers, stroked it once or twice, and then pressed it into her, pausing for just a minute to catch her eye before finally pushing his way inside. _Maker_. She arched her back with a cry and he buried his face in the crook of her neck - it was almost too much, it was always almost too much - and he held still a moment, composing himself, controlling himself. "Carver," she moaned his name as she glanced up at him, eyes heavy with lust. "Please,"

She drove him wild when her eyes were like this, dewy, lidded, a look she saved only for him. He rocked into her, his cock bottoming out inside her, each pump of his hips met with a little cry. She’d wrapped her legs about his waist and it was like he was drowning in her body - even in all their clothes, every part of him was touching her. For a moment the inn fell silent and there was nothing but cathryn, her little breaths, her pleading. His mouth shaped her name a hundred times and it was almost a prayer as he fucked her.

"I need you," she was panting, the heat of the tavern and her clothes and their bodies making her breathless, the weight of him against her squeezing her lungs - "I need you," she said again, and he crushed her mouth with his, their teeth clicking together in the hurried mess of it all - "carver. I need you," it was not a plea, this time, but a promise, and he knew that she meant it. he felt the pressure building in him as he gripped her tight, pressing a kiss to her forehead and then her cheek and then her mouth, again, as he thrust into her once more, twice, again -

"I love you," he half whispered, half cried into her ear as he came, holding her close, cradling her to his body, still inside her as she tangled him up in all her limbs. They were both sticky with sweat and sex and he did, he really did love her. She puffed for air and pressed the softest kiss to his temple, holding him to her chest.

"Don’t go," she whispered into his hairline, quiet, delirious murmurs, "don't go. I love you. Stay, just a little while. Stay."

He did. After tucking himself back inside his pants, and tenderly, almost reverently fixing his sister's skirt, he picked her up bodily, sat down where she'd been, and placed her on his lap. She nuzzled into his shoulder with a dozy smile and traced soft, fairy kisses up his neck and onto his chin. "Do you think they saw?" he asked, and she giggled, girlishly.

"No. do you think any one of them would know true love if it looked them right in the face?" she tugged at the fingers of her glove, dabbed at the sweat on her brow. "That’s all that was."

He felt his stomach knot and he kissed her on the mouth. Anyone could see now, if they'd chosen to look, but he wasn't sure he cared.


End file.
